


The Bachelor Party

by WildwingSuz



Series: Skinner POV Stories [7]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: Skinner is forced to throw a bachelor party for an unpopular agent, and guess who he forces to make an appearance.





	The Bachelor Party

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I love writing from Skinner’s POV and am glad he gave me another story to tell. 
> 
> Spoilers: Takes place mid-Season 6, after Arcadia. They’re back on the X-Files and under Skinner’s supervision.

  
 

 

Thanks yet again to Mimic117 for an outstanding beta

 **The Bachelor Party**  
Rated PG-13  
Suzanne L. Feld

 

_March, 1999_

 

“There is no arguing this, Agent Mulder.  Though I can’t officially demand that you be there, I am _un_ officially doing so and you had damn well better be listening.”

 

Mulder didn’t look up at me, appearing like nothing so much as a sulking, pouting teenager where he sat slumped in one of the two the chairs on the other side of my desk despite his Armani suit, silk tie, and expensive wingtips.  We both knew that he didn’t have to ask what he’d done to have me talking to him like this; Agent Scully was on a two-week administrative leave thanks to his carelessness in their last case.  The fact that I couldn’t nail him, too, really bit my ass and hence this decree.  As usual, she’d covered his ass and there was nothing I could do about it even if I knew that it had been Mulder’s fuckup, not hers.

 

“I am also hereby suspending the X-Files division until Agent Scully returns, which means that the basement office is closed and you are to sit at a desk in the bullpen for the time being.  You will accept any and all assignments that come your way, wiretaps or fertilizer investigations or whatever I decide to present to you.  With no argument or back talk.  Am I making myself clear?”

 

“Yes, sir,” he said in a carefully neutral voice, but didn’t look up at me.

 

“I don’t know how in the hell you can be so damned inconsiderate and careless of your partner, Agent Mulder, and still have one.  I’ll never understand why Dana stays with you and the X-Files, but you’d damn well better start treating her better or you _are_ going to lose her as a partner.  I’ll see to it!”

 

He glanced up at me with an inscrutable look, and I wondered if the rumors about their little sojourn in Antarctica were true.  I hadn’t been around them much while they were off the X-Files, and it figured that on their second case back under my supervision he’d fuck it up royally.  And the first one hadn’t gone so well either, although at least they’d been able to close it even if I didn’t believe it had been a magically-animated garbage monster running amok in a prestigious housing community.

 

“That will be all.”

 

When he was gone I slowly shook my head, wondering what I could or would do if he didn’t show up at the party as ordered.  He’d gone to my Christmas party when asked a few years ago, though I’d found out that the main reason both he and Scully came was to visit with their friends, who were the other’s date.  And something had gone on in my spare bedroom… but I wasn’t even going to speculate.  With those two, who knew?

 

#          #          #

 

The guest of honor had been holding court for about an hour before I looked up and saw Mulder’s sullen face in profile across the room.  By this time I had been wondering if he was coming.  It had been almost a week since my ultimatum, and I was relieved that he showed up.  I don’t know what I could have done as punishment and was glad I didn’t have to try and think of anything.

 

The bachelor party was in full swing, the beer flowing and the catered hors d'oeuvres being scarfed as raucous rock music blasted from my stereo.  Clumps of men stood talking here and there, mostly around the kitchen breakfast bar where the snacks were. There was a rather repressed, subdued air to the party, and I knew why.

 

Agent Ray Sanchez was not popular at the Hoover Building.  He was the glad-handing, perpetually smiling, supposedly friendly type who’d stab you in the back in a heartbeat to get ahead—and everyone knew it.  He was a shark and you watched your ass around him before he took a bite out of you.  Despite that, I had gotten ordered into having his bachelor party by _my_ boss, whom I could refuse about as much as Mulder could decline my request to be here.  From what I guessed Sanchez had hinted that he was getting married and didn’t have many male friends to throw one for him, and Deputy Director Stevens fell for it.

 

Apparently I wasn’t the only A.D. with agents I could blackmail into coming, since most of the men here were either green agents or known as troublemakers.  I wasn’t even sure if any of them knew Sanchez, but that mattered very little.  There were a few of his co-workers and partner here, but without the others it would have been a small party indeed.  As it was, there were probably close to two dozen agents in my apartment, all of them well on the way to getting rowdy drunk.

 

It was really going to get fun when the stripper arrived, I thought with some trepidation.

 

I made my way across the room to Mulder. “You did bring the movies, right?”

 

“Of course,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and nearly poking me in the eye.  “I put them over by the TV.”

 

Mulder’s porn collection was legendary, and despite his being uncomfortable when I brought it up he’d agreed to bring some of his better tapes.  My qualifications had been no gay men, no violence, and lots of woman-on-woman if possible.  Looking at the titles he brought I had to agree he’d made good choices.  I chose _Hot Hunting Hoes_ to begin with.  It appeared to be the story of several busty young women who liked to dress in scanty pink camouflage, carry guns, and abduct mediocre-looking men with giant penises to have mad sex with.  Just the thing to keep this crowd entertained.

 

When the movie started on my 52-inch projection TV most of the men gravitated to the living room to watch, both sitting and standing around it.  I left the music loud so no one could hear what was happening on the screen, though I had warned my neighbors in advance about this party.  As far as I knew, most of them weren’t home. 

 

I then headed to the kitchen to check the amount of beer left and see if there was any damage yet; I’d been to bachelor parties where the hosting place got trashed and I wasn’t about to allow that to happen to my apartment.

 

To my surprise, Mulder stood alone in the room, leaning against the counter, morosely sipping from a red Solo cup and staring out the small window over the sink.  “Agent Mulder,” I said as I walked over to the fridge. “By the way, thanks for coming. I do appreciate it.”

 

He shrugged.  “Free booze and porn, what more could a guy ask for?”

 

I snorted, noting that there was still plenty of beer in the fridge though most of the snacks were gone.  When the booze was gone, they were gone; I wasn’t serving hard liquor for the obvious reason.  Someone had poured suds into a group of red Solo cups lined up on the counter, though I couldn’t understand why the bottles weren’t good enough for everyone.  “Then why are you in here instead of out there where the movie’s playing?”

 

“Seen it plenty of times,” he said in an offhand manner as I headed for the archway leading into the dining room again.  “I showed up, _boss_ , you can’t force me to have a good time.”

 

I paused, looking back at his brooding face.  “Whatever, Mulder.  Just don’t ruin it for anyone else.”

 

He gave a short bark of unamused laughter.  “Yeah, well, this is the party of the year—that you had to blackmail most—“

 

“Shut up!” I hissed, glancing out into the other room.  Luckily just about everyone was gathered around the TV in the living room.  “Christ, lower your voice—or even better, keep your damn mouth shut.”

 

He glared at me, then turned back to the window, dismissing me.

 

I was annoyed but decided not to let him get to me.  I had to do this, and wanted to get it over without any damage to my reputation or property.  So far, so good.

 

An hour later everything had changed.  Several men were passed out around my living and dining rooms. Five others (including Sanchez) had been removed by the DCPD to squad cars after a fight that boiled out into the hallway of my apartment building.  I was standing on the sidewalk in front of it trying to explain to a group of stubborn uniforms that these were Federal agents, and getting nowhere.  Luckily a sergeant arrived to find out what was going on. Once he discovered that we were all FBI, he managed to get rid of everyone and quiet down the area.  He took me at my word that the combatants would get reprimanded by the Bureau, released them, and finally all the cops left.

 

Thank God I was able to cancel the stripper.

 

It was with some not-well-hidden glee that I called D.D. Stevens to notify him of the fight and the fact that the police had been called although the incident was now covered up.  I figured this would get me a gold star or two despite waking him up at nearly midnight.

 

I had taken all car keys at the door, and next made calls to cab companies, wives, and girlfriends to pick up the inebriated men who were unable to drive.  Unfortunately, that was many of them although I was absolutely baffled at how two dozen men got so drunk on six cases of assorted beer.  I’d had three bottles myself and was barely buzzed, and I wasn’t much of a drinker.

 

Two hours later, I was finally alone.  Though my apartment had gotten relatively trashed due to the fight, Stevens agreed to send a cleaning service over tomorrow to take care of it.  Least he could do, I thought.

 

God, how had those men consumed so much beer they got drunk enough to pass out? I wondered as I puttered around the kitchen straightening up.  I hadn’t gotten a keg for just that reason.  Then, when taking out the garbage, I discovered three pints of vodka and a fifth of tequila among the trash, and there were probably more empty bottles I didn’t find.  I sniffed a few of the cups still scattered around, and could smell the hard liquor.  Someone had been spiking the beer!  No wonder they’d been using cups instead of just drinking from the bottles.  Come to think of it, I didn't have any red Solo cups in the place, so someone must have brought them as well.

 

Grumbling to myself I headed down the hallway to my bedroom, thinking that I’d better check and make sure that no one had gotten in there.  But when I flipped on the light, I saw that someone had.

 

Mulder, fully dressed except for his shoes, was passed out dead cold on top of my green plaid comforter. Said shoes had been kicked off and were haphazardly laying near the end of the bed.  He was on his back, and I saw that there were green and yellow puke stains down his front all the way to his ankles and fresh vomit on his neck. He was still drooling some.  Great.  Now my spread would be another thing for the cleaning service to take care of.  I was afraid to go into the main bathroom considering how many people had been in there tonight, and relieved that I had a small master bath to use until the service got here in the morning.

 

I rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke, then tried to yell and shake him awake.  He was breathing fine, but totally unconscious and unresponsive.  I wondered if I should call an ambulance, but then a better idea occurred to me.

 

Scully made great time across the city and arrived only fifteen minutes later.  I opened the door to find her standing there, glorious titan hair tousled, no makeup, and dressed in a pair of almost-white faded jeans and a snug navy University of Maryland t-shirt with a grey windbreaker over it. She looked heartbreakingly lovely, but then when didn’t she? 

 

“Where is he, sir?” she asked, stepping inside carrying a tan leather soft-sided bag in one hand.

 

“My bedroom, first door on the left,” I gestured.  “Just call me Walter tonight, Dana.  I think this occasion allows first name usage.”

 

She flashed a closed-mouth smile over her shoulder that faded as she started down the hallway.  “I’ve got a few names I’m going to call Mulder,” she said in a grim tone, “Especially if he’s given himself alcohol poisoning.”

 

I explained about the bottles I’d found and that it was possible Mulder hadn’t known he was drinking hard liquor with his beer.  I noticed several times during the evening that he’d been carrying a red Solo cup instead of a bottle. 

 

While Scully examined him I stood leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, noting how she handled and moved him with gentleness and caring.  I’d had lovers who didn’t treat me that tenderly.

 

Finally she stood upright and turned to me, looping her stethoscope around her neck.  “I don’t think it’s alcohol poisoning, though he’s obviously had far too much.  He doesn’t have any of the danger signs like cyanosis, seizures, slow or irregular breathing or heartbeat, or low body temperature.  Why don’t we get him cleaned up, and maybe move him onto your couch for the night?  If we can wake him up enough I can take him home, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to.  He’s as unconscious as if he had been given a dose of acepromizine.”

 

Whatever that was. “All right. Luckily my clothes should fit him.” I started to head for my dresser at the foot of the bed.

 

“Don’t bother, I’ve got some of his stuff in my trunk.”  At my raised-eyebrows look she huffed and added, “We keep packed travel bags in each other’s cars, Walter.  We never know when we’ll be taking off at a moment’s notice.”

 

Made sense.  “Okay, I’ll come out and get it, and then take care of him, if you want to leave.”

 

“No, I’ll stay if you don’t mind.  Alcohol can continue to metabolize for several hours depending on the circumstances, so if it goes past the danger point I want to be here with him.”  She took the stethoscope off and began to pack the leather bag.  “Do you want to try and move him, so you can have your bed?”

 

“No, leave him there,” I said.  “He’s fine.  I’ll sleep in the guest room.  Let’s get rid of the spread, though, and I have some extra blankets we can cover him with.”

 

After she got his duffel, we undressed him down to his underwear.  While I went to stuff the stinking comforter in a garbage bag—I would have thrown it out but my mother had given it to me—she cleaned him up.  Then we dressed him in a set of grey FBI sweats we found in the bag, tugging thick white socks onto his large feet.  Finally we managed to roll him beneath the covers, and I found a bucket underneath the kitchen sink to put next to the bed just in case.

 

He didn’t move or make a sound the entire time, totally limp and unresponsive though his breathing was still strong and steady.  He was like a giant, heavy man-sized puppet. Scully checked him over once again, and then, to my absolute shock, delivered a sharp, hard slap to the side of his face with a crack like that of a rifle shot.

 

But it did get a reaction, finally. His eyes fluttered open and he grumbled, though nothing was understandable.

 

“ _Mulder!_ Mulder, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” Scully leaned over him, holding his shoulders, shaking him roughly.

 

His eyes rolled, pupils dilated, but managed to stop momentarily on her face. “Schulll?” he slurred, raising one arm a few inches then letting it flop back to the bed. He muttered something else that neither of us could understand, then his eyelids fell closed and he was out again.

 

“Yeah, I think he’ll be all right,” she said, letting go of him and standing upright. Putting her fists on her lower spine she arched back, groaning slightly. The move stretched the already-tight shirt taut over her breasts and I had to look away, feeling like a pervert.  “But I’d like to stay with him, if you don’t mind.”

 

“I can stay in here, that chair—“ I pointed to an overstuffed easy chair in the corner by the windows—“is very comfortable, I’ve fallen asleep reading in it.  You can have  the guest room and I’ll come get you if anything happens.”

 

“No, I’m fine, I already had a few hours’ sleep so you go on ahead,” she said. “It looks like you had one hell of a night. Can you help me move that chair closer to the bed before you go, though?”

 

I made sure she was settled and knew where everything was before I grabbed a pair of pajamas and my robe and went off to the guest bedroom across the hall.  Exhaustion and what little beer I’d drunk caught up with me, and I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

 

#          #          #

 

I wasn’t sure what awakened me so I lay still, listening.  Then I realized that it was my bladder, which was so full that I was cramping and laying with my knees drawn up.  Jesus, how had I gotten to this state?  And why wasn’t I in my bed?

 

Then it all came back.  The forced bachelor party, the mess, Mulder and Scully in my bedroom, me in the guest room.  Ohhh yeah.

 

I couldn’t remember ever having to pee this badly in my life, and was almost afraid to get up.  I hobbled to the doorway half-bent over, stumbled out into the hall, then turned right and opened the bathroom door.

 

The stench that hit me was like the slap that Scully had given Mulder earlier.  I couldn’t see anything in the pitch dark but if the smell was any indication, there was a pile of dead bodies decomposing in there.  Barring that, it was full of vomit and piss and maybe even shit from my drunken guests and had been sitting and marinating for hours.

 

No way was I turning on the light.  Not now, maybe not ever.

 

I pulled the door shut with a groan, crossing my legs.  Any minute I expected myself to start doing the potty dance, although I was afraid if I did I’d lose control.  I moved along the wall, feeling to the right for my bedroom doorway. I found the molding around it and with a whistled sigh of relief, strode forward.

 

And had my sigh cut off as I bumped face-first into the door, which was closed although it had been open when I’d gone to bed.  “Goddammit!” I swore, not caring if I woke anyone up.  My groping hand found the knob, and I finally got the door open.

 

There was just enough ambient light from the windows to see clearly enough that I could hurry over to the master bath and get inside without bumping into anything.  Thank God the seat was up, because I had barely managed to close the door behind myself  and turn on the light before I let go.  It seemed to take years to empty my bladder, and I couldn’t ever remember a better feeling.

 

I washed my hands, figuring that after the day I’d had they probably needed it anyway, then turned out the light and opened the small door.  I paused, taking a minute to process what I was seeing as my eyes adjusted.

 

The chair beside the bed was empty, and there were two S-shaped figures underneath the covers.  Even in the dimness I could make out Scully’s fiery hair behind Mulder’s dark head.  It looked like she was spooning him from behind, though with the difference in their heights I wasn’t quite sure how that worked.  I could hear both of them breathing, and a muscular bare arm and shoulder lay along Mulder’s body outside the covers.

 

Last I’d remembered, he’d been wearing a sweatshirt.

 

I moved around to the other side of the bed and sure enough, the shirt was on the floor, a dim grey puddle.   I couldn’t see what Scully was wearing since all but her head was beneath the covers, but there was no more clothing scattered around.  Perhaps he’d just gotten too warm, I mused. 

 

I gazed down at them for another few moments, pondering their odd co-dependent but effective relationship.  I didn’t think they’d slept together yet since that unmistakable crackling tension was still there, and honestly didn’t understand why.  They were both single and the FBI had no rules against a relationship between agents as long as they weren’t superior and subordinate. So why hadn’t they?  Anyone could see the respect, deep fondness, and, yes, love between them.  I had noticed that they were getting more and more physical with each other, touching where they hadn’t before, and somehow I didn’t think this was the first time they’d shared a bed.

 

Well, nothing to do about it now, I thought as I headed back to the guest room. I’d be happy to get another few hours’ sleep before having to deal with the rest of it in the morning.

 

I was awakened next by pounding on my front door, which was the cleaning service that Stevens had sent. I let them in, pointed them to the living room first, started a pot of coffee, then went to wake my two wayward agents.

 

I found them already up, Mulder sitting in bed blinking groggily, light green sheets and brown microfiber blanket pooled around his waist.  He was once again wearing the grey sweatshirt, I noticed.  Both of them had combed their hair and appeared they’d brushed their teeth and washed their faces, at least, undoubtedly from the bags they kept with them.  I thought they’d been up for a while, or probably she had been. Scully sat in the chair and was leaning towards him, one hand on his wrist, probably taking his pulse.  “Good morning, Walter,” she said far too cheerfully.  “I think our patient will live.”

 

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Mulder muttered, frowning darkly.  “World’s ending, at least in my head.”

 

“Hang on, I’ve got coffee brewing.”

 

“He needs water to rehydrate,” Scully said, looking up at me as she let go of Mulder’s arm.  I then noticed that one of my large tumblers was on the bedside table half-full of clear liquid. “I’ve been giving him as much water as he’ll take, and coffee will just dehydrate him.”

 

“I give a fuck!” Mulder snapped, moving away from her, then groaned and grabbed his head with both hands, bending over his outstretched legs.  “Don’t you have some Demerol or Percocet you can give me instead of bitching about coffee?”

 

Scully grinned up at me, and I had to smile back.  “I already gave you two Tylenol 3s with codeine,” she told him in a scolding tone.  “Give them time to work.  Think you can eat anything?”

 

A groan was our answer.  Just then there was a loud rattling and the bang of two metal objects crashing together from the other side of the apartment.

 

“What the hell!” Mulder cried, wincing in pain.  The dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes and the dark stubble on his jaw, combined with the lock of hair hanging over his forehead and the red mark on his jaw made him look more like a haggard derelict than a respectable officer of the law.  “Why’s it so fucking noisy in here?”

 

“Stevens sent over a cleaning crew after those assholes trashed my apartment,” I explained, and decided not to mention the bathroom that I assumed he had helped make so disgusting.  What the hell, I didn’t have to clean it up.  “They’re going to be here a while, that’s for sure.”

 

“That’s our cue, Mulder,” Scully said, standing.  “You’re alert enough to get in my car, so I’ll take you home.”

 

“Coffee, please, first,” he said, looking up at me with pleading eyes then cutting them over to his partner.  “I’ll drink a gallon of water straight down if I can just have a sip of black coffee.”

 

A loud vacuum started up in the living room, echoing down the hallway and blasting into the bedroom.

 

“Fuck this shit, I’m outta here,” Mulder snapped, throwing the covers back and bouncing to his feet.  But he swayed alarmingly and I got to him before Scully, who was on the other side of the bed.  I took hold of his upper arm, steadying him. 

 

“Sure about that, Mulder?” I smirked.  And did it feel good.

 

“God-damn!” he yelled over the noise, wincing, his other hand going to his head.  “What the fuck happened to me?  Tell me it was aliens!”

 

I helped him sit down on the edge of the bed, then held up a finger in the universal wait-a-minute sign.  I found the cleaners in the living room and asked them to wait on the vacuuming until my guests were gone; there was plenty else to do.  I then grabbed three cups of black coffee and took them back to the bedroom.

 

I heard voices and froze just outside the doorway, listening.  From the sound of it, Scully had filled him in on what had happened while I was out of the room.

 

“Mulder, no one was trying to poison you.”

 

“How do you know that?  Everyone knew I was coming.  I brought the, ahhh, adult entertainment.”

 

“Ah, yes, those tapes which aren’t yours in the drawer that’s not in your desk.  Well, I hope you picked some of the good ones, not those raggedly old things from the 1980s.”

 

 _“Scully!_   You’ve looked through my, uh, the tapes?”

 

Her voice was amused.  “Scientific curiosity, Mulder.  However, I did note how many there are with, um, petite redheads featured on the covers.”

 

A moment of silence.  My right hand, holding two of the cups, was beginning to cramp but you couldn’t have moved me with a bulldozer at that moment.

 

“You noticed that, huh?” His voice was subdued.

 

“I most certainly did.  And I’m quite touched, to be honest. I always thought your type was stacked brunettes.” Her tone was warm and amused.

 

“It used to be, that’s true.  But not anymore.  As you noticed in your trip through the tape drawer which does not belong to me, redheads are much more my thing these days.  Especially shrewd, inquisitive, Machiavellian ones.”

 

Fascinating as this conversation was, I was about to drop the cups.  I waited for a pause and walked in, quickly setting them on the end table nearest the door.  They were perched side by side on the edge of the bed, and didn’t move when I walked in despite how close they were sitting.  “I told them to keep it down until we leave,” I said, handing a cup to each of them.  “I’m not hanging around for this noise either.”

 

“Why don’t we go to breakfast—er, brunch,” Scully said, glancing at my bedside alarm clock as she took a cautious sip.  Mulder was less careful and took a mouthful, then sucked air in behind it, wincing.  “Even if you can’t eat much, Mulder, you should try to get some carbs in your stomach.  Even just a piece of toast will help absorb the alcohol.”

 

Mulder opened his mouth to protest, but I gave him my patented Look.  It came in handy with these two, in particular, though I did have other agents I used it on.  “I’d rather go home and back to sleep for a few more days but all right,” he grumbled.  

 

“My treat for you,” I insisted, turning to Scully.  “In thanks for helping on such short notice, Dana, since this one got you in trouble at work as well.  Just let me get dressed and I’ll meet you out in the living room.”

 

“C’mon, Mulder, I’ll drive, my car’s in a visitor spot right outside the door,” Scully said, getting up and setting her cup on the bedside table.  She smoothed her hair self-consciously.  “And we both look like we spent the night in a back alley watching for a beast-woman, so don’t even say you’re not dressed for it.”

 

I knew the look that passed between them; I had seen it many times, in many different situations.  Mulder got up, more carefully this time, and she took his elbow as they walked towards the door.  I thought he might grumble or shake her off, but to my surprise he put his arm around her as they disappeared into the hall.

 

As we were leaving, one of the cleaners hurried over to me.  “Mr. Skinner?”

 

I turned back.  “Yes?”

 

“I hate to tell you this, but we’re going to have to call in a hazmat crew to clean your bathroom.  That’s going to cost a lot extra.”

 

“No problem, just bill it to the FBI.” I grinned, tickled by the thought of Stevens seeing the invoice. 

 

I walked out into the warm sunlight to join my agents, no longer angry or upset about the bachelor party.  As far as I was concerned, it had all turned out fine in the end.  Especially reopening the X-Files and getting to work with these two again no matter how many headaches they gave me.  Well, once Agent Scully came back to work after her suspension to put up with his crazy bullshit again, but that was all a part of the fun.

 

Not that I’d ever tell them.

 

 

_finis_


End file.
